


Based on Double Occupancy

by Dangerousnotbroken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, Heart-feels, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pants-feels, Road Trips, bed sharing, deancastropefest5k, oh no only one bed what do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:10:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10529598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken
Summary: Two friends. A Car. The open highway. What could possibly go wrong?Or: how Dean Winchester learned to stop worrying and share a bed with the guy he's got a huge crush on. No big deal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot think of a tropier trope to explore for Tropefest, and I also cannot believe that I, a person who loves the bedsharing trope as much as I do, have never in my life written a fic that plays with this trope. It's a travesty. It demands satisfaction.

It is not going to be awkward, Dean tells himself. The mantra plays on repeat the entire time Castiel fills out the requisite paperwork. He hands over his credit card, smiling and making idle chatter with the front desk attendant like they are old friends who care even one iota about what the other has to say. Dean’s always been the more charming between them, but Castiel is much better at pretending he’s actually interested. Regardless, it is not going to be awkward, and there is nothing to worry about, and everything is going to be fine. This is fine. Everything is fine.

Everything, of course, is not fine. It is categorically false to state that things are fine, but the only thing more stressful than the constant litany running through Dean’s head at this exact moment would be a conscious admission of how not fine things are, so he’ll settle for the lie and cling to it like a drowning man clings to a chunk of driftwood, hoping desperately for some unseen source of salvation to rescue him from the desperately painful experience that lies ahead. He’ll hope for some last minute reprieve, all the while silently certain that it won’t come. Anything at all to avoid acknowledging the monster that waits behind one of dozens of identical doors lining the hallways of this, the only hotel in the area that has any vacancies whatsoever.

Of course there’s only one room. Of fucking course. It shouldn’t even be a surprise. It’s kinda okay, really, what with the cost savings and all. Dean isn’t exactly rolling in disposable income and he knows Cas isn’t either, so not shelling out for two rooms works out pretty well, financially speaking. But apparently, Fate took one look at Dean and Cas, thoroughly exhausted after an entire day on the road and desperate to just shove food in their faces before passing out face down on their respective beds and went, _nope, fuck you personally and specifically,_ and ensured that the solitary vacancy at their disposal was a single King rather than two Queens. And oh yeah, in case they had any clever ideas about making the best of a bad situation, all the rollaway cots the hotel owns, available usually for a nominal fee, are already spoken for because _of course_ this is the weekend of some fucking massive furry convention, and they should be down on their knees prostrate in appreciation that even a single bed is available at this point in time.

Dean could have said no. He didn’t have to clear his calendar for a road trip. There was nothing at all obligating him to cut out of work at noon on Friday, pile into the car with Cas and a cooler of sodas and a duffle bag and just drive, but Cas said _please_ and every single reason Dean could think of to decline just flew out the fucking window. He knows things haven’t been easy for Cas lately, not since his mom died, and the idea of a few days away didn’t really seem too terrible all things considered, and really, it’s been like a thousand years since he’s travelled further than that bakery across town that makes the pecan pie he really likes so why not?

This is why not. A single room, a single bed, and a hot summer night sleeping next to the best friend he’s been harbouring a not-crush on for like, bordering on forever.

Dean sighs.

It’s going to be a long night.

Castiel, for his part, seems totally oblivious to the potential awkwardness the evening might bring. He takes the card-keys from the desk clerk with a gummy smile and hands one to Dean, his eyes tired even as he laughs. It’s funny to him, this inconvenience, because of course Castiel is fully unaware of the pants-feels Dean’s been hiding for the better part of their friendship, or the heart-feels he’s been hiding for basically the same amount of time. If Dean ever planned on acting on either of those feels, pants- or heart- alike, he might be halfway annoyed at Castiel’s trademark obliviousness, but in this case, it suits his purposes quite nicely. If he’s lucky, they’ll make it through the night without anything mortifying happening and they can get back on the road, put the whole stupid ordeal behind them. Maybe Fate will decide they’ve been fucked hard enough and take pity, upgrade them to a double when they stop for the night again.

Dean doubts he’ll be that lucky.

“How is driving so exhausting?” Cas grumbles, stabbing the elevator button for the 5th floor and hitching his bag up on his shoulder. “You’re just sitting there all day. I mean, hell, you drove more than half the time. I should not be tired.”

“Just one of the great mysteries of life,” Dean tells him, not unsympathetically. The elevator doors slide closed, ensconcing them in a private bubble for just a few moments. Dean tries to think of something clever to say, suddenly aware of the awkward silence, but the door opens before he comes up with anything worth the effort. Cas beelines out the door faster than their exhaustion should allow as soon as the door opens, head swivelling as he checks a sign on the wall and decides which direction their room is in. He’s got the door open before Dean catches up.

“I feel disgusting,” Dean complains. “I need like, seven showers.”

“One will probably suffice, if it’s a long one,” Cas assures him. “You can go first.”

“If you order me a cheeseburger from room service while I’m in there, I will be _forever_ in your debt.”

“What kind of debt are we talking here?” Cas asks slyly. “Like, first born child? Help me hide a body? Or is this like, a blank cheque for mayhem?”

“Uh…” Dean replies cleverly. He knows Cas meant nothing untoward by the comment but his brain is all full up with thoughts of hypothetical things he could do to show Cas gratitude, and all of  a sudden, it’s very hot in the room.

“Go take your shower,” Cas dismisses, pointing toward the bathroom. He’s already pawing through the desk for the room service menu, so Dean opens his duffle and grabs some clean clothes, and then disappears into the bathroom.

By the time he emerges, the mirror is obscured by steam and his skin is pink from the heat, but some of the exhaustion sloughed away under the hot water. Cas is sitting on the foot of the bed still in his sweaty tee-shirt and jeans, flipping through the channels on the room’s TV.

“Shower’s free,” Dean announces, like it needs to be said.

“That involves moving,” Cas gripes, seeming to sink further into the bed. “Can’t I just die of exhaustion instead?”

“Not if we’re gonna sleep on the same bed. I don’t wanna smell your road sweat up close and personal all night.”

“Up close and personal, hey?” Cas shoots back, tearing his eyes away from the TV to give Dean a most inappropriate wink, and some impure thoughts along with it. “I never took you for a cuddler, Dean Winchester.”

“Shut up,” Dean replies cleverly, incapable of delivering a more scathing response. Fortunately, Cas lets it lie and hauls himself off the bed, sauntering to the bathroom. Dean doesn’t draw a proper breath until he hears the door click shut.

~*~

Despite their exhaustion, Dean and Cas make it through burgers, a six pack, and the first installment of an Underworld marathon that some cable channel has decided to grace them with before finally start to fade. Dean wouldn’t even have bothered with the movie, even though Kate Beckinsale looks absolutely deadly in a vinyl cat suit, but it was either stay up and watch a movie, or climb into bed with the lights out and try not to accidentally stab Cas with a sleep boner. Cas doesn’t seem any more interested in the movie than Dean is, but he also doesn’t try to turn it off or change the channel, so at the very least Dean’s ruse is successful.

Alas, like all good things, it comes to an end eventually. They could have launched into Underworld 2, and presumably the rest of the godforsaken sequels, but Cas yawns, and then Dean responds in kind, and there’s no more delaying it. Cas drops his pants without a word, no shame whatsoever, and climbs under the blankets in his boxers and a threadbare t-shirt, leaving Dean to pick his jaw up off the floor. Dean is much slower to act, but before long the lights are out, an alarm set so they can get back on the road at a decent hour, and Dean is left with his thoughts and the soft sounds of Cas’ breathing as he falls asleep on the other side of the bed.

It’s a King, so there should be plenty of room, but Dean feels cramped and claustrophobic and hemmed in despite it. He could just reach out his arm and touch Cas, and that’s enough to leave him feeling weird and awkward and apprehensive, and he’s sure he’ll never fall asleep like this.

He does though. He definitely falls asleep. He must have, because sometime later, after sleep has turned his limbs to lead and his brain to mush, he wakes up with a warm, solid weight tucked up against his back and an arm slung across his waist. Cas is snoring softly, not the chainsaw-on-hardwood noises Dean remembers Sam gracing him wit on family vacations but a quiet, peaceful sound that tells Dean he’s still sound asleep. He shifts just a little, testing to see how easy it’ll be to escape Cas’ clutches. Short answer, not easy. Not unless he wants to wake Cas up in the process, and something tells Dean that this entire scenario is gonna be several varieties of awkward if they have to like, have a conversation about it. So as much as Dean loathes the idea of staying here, for lack of a better word cuddling with Cas in a sleepy tableau of mockery of all the things Dean actually wants with his friend but can’t have, he sees no option other than to stay. Eventually, Cas will roll over in his sleep and release Dean on his own, and until that time, Dean will just have to stay alert and vigilant and ensure it doesn’t get any more awkward.

At least he’s got a minor sense of satisfaction in knowing he was right. He knew this was a terrible idea. Knew it the second the clerk told them there was only one bed available. Knew it would lead to suffering on Dean’s part, if not necessarily Cas’. He just knew it. The satisfaction of being right isn’t particularly satisfying at all in this case, because Cas is so close, so warm and so close, and there’s something inexplicably comfortable and familiar about the way he’s latched on to Dean, curled up behind him. His arm twitches possessively around Dean’s waist and he sighs in his sleep, and Dean has to admit that his refusal to tuck and roll away is less fear of waking Cas and more an unwillingness to let this go. It isn’t real. Cas isn’t his. But for however long this lasts, he can pretend just a little.

Dean pouts into the dark of the room when he looks that revelation in the face. It hurts more than he cares to admit. It’s obvious Cas wouldn’t want this if he was awake to weigh in on it and the guilt of that hangs heavy over Dean. Still, there’s nothing he can do without making it worse, making it awful, so he bides his time and keeps his thoughts to himself.

Cas makes a small, somewhat disgruntled noise in his sleep, nothing nightmarish or horrible, but the clutch of his arm around Dean’s waist tightens just a little before releasing. The arm is just draped over Dean now, not holding him with anything more than gravity, and much as he’s going to regret the loss of closeness when he makes his escape, Dean knows he has to. It’ll only be worse if Cas wakes up and sees what he’s done in his sleep.

Dean moves cautiously, aware of the stakes if he disturbs his bedmate, but it’s all for naught. He barely shifts before Cas stirs to life behind him, his sleepy voice rumbling out into the dark.

“Where’re you going?” he asks, his words slurred with the thickness of sleep.

Not what Dean expected to hear.

He’s at a loss for how to answer. Dean’s first instinct is to make a big deal about it to hide his own complicity in the cuddling, but he feels a stab of apprehensive guilt at the idea of letting Cas think he’s affronted by the attention. And he could play it off like he was getting up to take a piss or something, but everything is still gonna be there when he gets back, so that doesn’t really do anything but delay whatever words they’re gonna have on the subject.

“Just rolling over,” Dean’s mouth offers before Dean’s brain has actually settled on an answer. Seems like a good enough course of action though, so he silently commends his mouth for its grace under pressure.

“Okay,” Cas hums contentedly. Dean rolls onto his other side, coming face to face with Cas’ moonlight illuminated face, and he takes back everything he said about his mouth’s quick thinking, because Cas throws his arm right back around Dean’s waist, tugging him in close enough that Dean could very easily kiss Cas if he had a mind to do so. Well, a mind, and the gumption for it, because the gumption is the only part of that formula he’s currently lacking. This was a terrible plan. Just absolutely awful. The worst.

Cas sighs softly and resumes his gentle snoring almost immediately, and it’s at this moment in time that it first occurs to Dean that Cas might not be entirely aware of what he’s doing. Actually, come to think of it, that’s a pretty reasonable explanation. Not that they’ve ever shared a bed before, and sure, Cas has always had some differing ideas on the subject of personal space, but he’s never encroached on Dean’s bubble anywhere near this much before, so it seems to make the most sense that Cas is not doing this with conscious knowledge.

But Dean is weak, and despite Cas’ earlier teasing he _is_ a cuddler, so he sighs and lets himself get comfortable. He’s gonna be here a while.

~*~

It’s not the alarm clock that wakes Dean up in the morning. It’s not sunlight streaming through the windows or the inevitable rise in temperature that comes from the sun beating down on the world outside, either. It’s Cas, chuckling softly in that incredibly appealing way he tends to do.

Cas, who is currently wrapped quite tightly in Dean’s arms and making no effort to extricate himself.

Cas, whose ass is currently pressed quite firmly against Dean’s rather insistent morning wood.

Cas, who is currently not giving Dean any kind of shit.

Dean has no idea what the fuck is happening.

“Uh,” he mutters, quite sensibly, searching for some kind of explanation or excuse or, hell, a fucking distraction so he can tuck and roll, run away, and hide in the bathroom until Cas…he’s not sure what Cas would do. But something. Something that gets Dean out of this situation. Anything. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Cas inquires, is laughter musical even with the roughness of sleep shaping it, and yup, that’s having the exact opposite effect on Dean’s dick that he was hoping for right now. Dean might be half awake, but his downstairs brain is at full alert.

“For the uh, you know. Rude awakening.”

Cas hums softly, wiggling his hips as he shuffles closer, impossibly closer, grabbing Dean’s arm when he tries to retreat. “Oh yes,” Castiel mocks him, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “a dick, Good heavens. So rude. I have never before had occasion to touch a penis, and would surely never want to. Especially not if it was attached to my incredibly attractive and _more than moderately oblivious_ best friend. Lord have mercy.” Dean can’t see his face, but he’s surely rolling his eyes.

…And that’s about when Dean’s still-totally-half-awake upstairs brain catches on to the incredibly attractive and more than moderately oblivious part.

“Wait,” Dean stammers out, desperately resisting the urge to grab Cas’ hips and grind against him. “Oblivious? Attractive?”

Cas sighs, long-suffering. “ _Yes,_ that’s what I said. You. Attractive. Me. Attracted to you.” He maneuvers Dean’s hand, still clutched to prevent his escape, down to the front of his boxers, letting Dean feel for himself how accurate that statement is. Cas’ cock strains against the fly on his boxers, allowing Dean just the slightest touch of the velvety skin peeking through, and his brain fumbles for something to say.

“Cas,” is all he manages, kinda desperate, kinda confused.

“So, I mean,” Cas continues, sounding for all the world like he’s totally unaffected by this whole impossible scenario. “We kinda have the same problem right now. And you could ignore it if you want, hope it goes away on its own, but the way that thing feels poking me right now you’d be liable to break the steering wheel with it if you get in the car now, so we should probably just help each other out.” He pauses for a moment, probably _completely_ for dramatic effect because he’s an asshole. “Unless you’re not interested.”

“Uh, no Cas, I’m fuckin interested,” Dean assures him, maybe a little more forcefully than he meant to. “I just never realized _you_ were interested.”

Cas laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Like I said. Oblivious.” He rolls over, staying nice and close, and comes to a rest with his face mere inches from Dean’s, and Dean has just enough time to notice the joyful twinkle in Cas’ blue eyes before they’re kissing. Cas is kissing him, slow and sweet and deep, and Dean does nothing but moan softly against his lips for like, four point five seconds, but then he gets his arm around Cas’ waist, pulls him tight, and kisses him back for all he’s worth.

Cas lets him guide things for a few minutes, and Dean takes full advantage. He’s wanted this for a damn long time, so he takes every opportunity to touch Cas, to kiss him, to learn him. He grips Cas’ ass, starts to grind his hips to get some friction on their cocks.

And that’s when the alarm clock goes off.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters. It’s Fate, doing that _fuck you personally and specifically_ thing again. The moment is over, and now they have to get back on the road with all this half-resolved tension between them. Super.

Cas rolls over and slaps the damn clock. “Snooze button. Default setting on those things is….nine minutes? I bet I can get you off before it goes again.” Dean has to admit, that sounds a whole lot better than jacking off in the shower before getting behind the wheel again.

“Yeah,” he replies, trying to keep his enthusiasm in check. Almost as soon as he speaks the words, Cas has him on his back, pressed into the welcoming softness of the mattress. He straddles Dean’s legs, grinning mischievously for a moment, and then he shoves Dean’s boxers toughly down around his thighs. He pushes his own down too, freeing his thick cock to just out rather appealingly from the dark tuft of hair between his legs. Without a single word, Cas licks his palm, takes both of their cocks in hand, and strokes them both in slick, messy unison.

“Cas,” Dean groans. He’s at a complete loss for any other words to offer. And it’s not like Dean to be without a witty rejoinder, so that says a little something for how totally lost in the moment he is. Cas strokes them quickly, smoothly, with just the right amount of pressure. He’s breathing hard, mouth open just slightly, and his tongue keeps darting out to lick his lips as he stares down at the sight beneath him. Dean lets go the handfuls of bedding he’s been absently clutching and moves his hands to Cas’ thighs, gripping firmly just for something to hold onto. Cas looks so fucking good like this, still nearly clothed, watching intently as their cocks disappear into the circle of his fist, only to emerge again a moment later. They’re getting just a little slicker with each pass, precome dripping from the heads to ease the way.

Cas groans, a sound Dean thinks he could get used to hearing. “Dean.” He breathes the name like it’s something special, like Dean is something more than a quick lay in a shitty motel room a day’s drive from home. “ _Dean,”_ he repeats, pitching forward to balance his weight on his free hand, the one that isn’t wrapped around their erections at this exact moment. As soon as he’s within reach, his lips press to Dean’s, kissing the air out of his lungs. He’s breathless, feels like he’s drowning, and he loves every second of it. Dean brings his arms up to clutch at Cas, tangling fingers in his messy hair, gripping his arm to hold him close.

Dean feels Cas stiffen a split second before he comes, spilling hot ropes of come over his own hand and Dean’s cock. His hand doesn’t falter for a second, even when he’s done, even when there’s not a drop left in him to milk out. He keeps stroking Dean, stroking both of them, keeping their cocks trapped together in his grip, and before long Dean is tipping over the edge too. He moans against Cas’ mouth, the volume of it diminished but not muted by their kiss.

Cas doesn’t let go until Dean starts to squirm, and even then he doesn’t stop kissing Dean. It is slow and languid, unhurried and pleasantly simple, which is a stark contrast to all the feelings Dean had falling into bed last night. Yesterday, this all seemed so fucking complicated. Today, not so much.

Of course, that’s when the alarm goes off again.

Dean reaches out to silence it this time, turning the thing right off rather than snoozing it. “So looks like you won the bet,” he says conversationally, like the bet didn’t involve Dean’s dick or anything.

“So I did,” Cas murmurs against his mouth.

“What was I betting, again?”

“Oh, we never said,” Cas informs him. “But you can get breakfast if it makes you feel better.”

“Already feeling pretty damn good about the whole thing, but sure. That sounds alright.” Cas rolls off the bed, striding off to the bathroom to clean himself up. Dean’s shirt got the worst of it, and he definitely won’t be reusing it until they either get home or they stop somewhere with laundry. He cringes as he tugs it off, balling the shirt up to cram in the bottom of his bag.

“Go clean yourself up,” Cas teases when he comes back from the bathroom totally naked. Dean allows himself the pleasure of a long look, which Cas just meets with a grin.

Perhaps, Dean thinks, when they stop again tonight, they’ll be forced to share a bed again. Wouldn’t that be something?

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr!](http://shennanigoats.tumblr.com).


End file.
